


what sexual harassment seminar?

by coatsandjumpers



Category: Borderlands
Genre: M/M, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:52:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coatsandjumpers/pseuds/coatsandjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hyperion isn't your typical company. Handsome Jack isn't your typical boss. Rhys's appointment with the corporation's infamous leader doesn't go quite as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what sexual harassment seminar?

The doors close behind Rhys with a threatening finality. He stands there, uncertain, watching Jack who hasn’t even bothered to look up yet. Rhys wonders if he’s actually working on something important or if he’s just trying to make Rhys uncomfortable; if it’s the latter, he’s succeeding. It’s stressful enough being in front of the company’s head, but Rhys has no idea what he’s doing up here and he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying to figure out why the hell Handsome Jack asked to see him.

“Stop fidgeting so much, kiddo. It’s annoying the hell out of me.” Rhys freezes immediately, barely daring to meet Jack’s eyes. Jack leans back in his chair, smirking.

“Are you nervous?”

Rhys figures it’s not worth lying since Jack can probably see the anxiety written all over his face. He hadn’t anticipated facing a life or nasty-airlock-death situation when he got up this morning, and he feels woefully unprepared.

“Yes, sir,” he replies, dropping his eyes to the floor.

His voice is about as steady as he could have hoped for.

“Cute. You’re cute, cupcake.” It’s a compliment, kind of, and Rhys hopes it means he’s not going to be tossed into space within the next fifteen minutes. The way Jack says it though doesn’t sound all that complimentary. It’s condescending, flippant, and that combined with the way Jack is looking at him is making Rhys feel more and more concerned. Jack looks downright predatory, his gaze moving over Rhys a few times, while Rhys stands and tries not to squirm under the scrutiny.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. “I do have a company to run, you know. I haven’t got all day, kid.”

“Uh.” Rhys starts stuttering incoherently, unsure of what Jack wants from him. He watches Jack’s eyebrows travel farther up his head as he keeps talking, although Rhys really has no idea what he’s even saying.

Jack puts him out of his misery, cutting him off by saying, “They didn’t tell you what you’re here for.”

Rhys shakes his head, feeling relieved. Jack can’t blame him for not knowing what’s going on if someone else didn’t brief him like they should have, right?

“Well, that’s unfortunate. I’ll fill you in instead.” A pause. “Strip.”

Rhys’s head jerks up at that, eyes widening slightly as Jack’s words register.

“What?”

He’s sure he must have misheard, because they’re at the office, this is Handsome Jack, and things like Handsome Jack telling him to strip don’t belong in Rhys’s day-to-day reality. (If Rhys is being completely honest, that’s something that definitely belongs to his late night fantasies).

“All right, pumpkin, let me make something clear for you. I’m only gonna say this once, so listen up. I ask you to do something, you do it. No questions, okay? What do you think this is? An interview? A promotion?” Jack scoffs, his tone derisive. “That’s not really how we do things around here. You’re in my office because I want you to be here.”

He leans forward in his chair slightly, bracing his arms on the edge of the desk. His eyes narrow slightly as he says, “Besides, Rhys, I know how you feel about me.”

Rhys doesn’t want to know how Jack knows about any of that, but he can’t help but wonder if Jack’s been watching him for a while now or if Hyperion just collects an ungodly amount of information about its employees. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything, so he starts loosening his tie.

“Attaboy,” Jack smiles, pleased with his obedience. Rhys’s fingers are shaking though, and he has a feeling it’s not because of the extra espresso he had this morning.

He fumbles awkwardly with the knot, Jack watching him struggle for a few more seconds before asking, “Need some help with that, sweetheart?”

He nods, saying a quiet “thank you” when Jack gets out of his chair and moves around his desk towards Rhys. He expects Jack to grab the tie, but instead he walks right up to Rhys, standing close. Rhys can feel Jack pressed against him, the heat pleasant. He feels light kisses tracing down the edge of his jawline, the touches surprisingly gentle. His heart is thudding against his ribcage, and he only vaguely registers Jack finally undoing the tie and pulling it away, tossing it carelessly onto the couch to their left. He makes quick work of Rhys’s shirt, unbuttoning it deftly before dropping it next to the tie.

The sudden chill makes Rhys shiver, and Jack pulls him closer, caging him in the heat of his arms. The first press of Jack’s lips against his snaps Rhys out of whatever stupor he was in. He’s dreamed about this, fantasized about this for years, and it’s finally happening in the most absurd way imaginable. Jack wasn’t wrong. He does want this, and even if he’s not sure how the hell Jack figured that out, he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He presses himself closer to Jack and deepens the kiss. The awkwardness is gone in an instant, and Rhys starts to enjoy the feel of Jack. He nips Jack’s lip, less than gently, and Jack finally seems to register Rhys’s change in attitude, drawing back for a second. They’re both breathing harder, and Jack’s pupils are blown, his eyes focused on Rhys’s lips.

There’s a pause, and then Jack pushes him towards the desk, leading him with an “Over there, cupcake.” His voice sounds controlled enough, and Rhys is suddenly very aware of the fact that Jack is still fully clothed. If someone walked in right now, Rhys would definitely look way worse off. Oh god, did the doors even lock behind him? Could anyone just -- the thoughts are shoved out of his head as Jack pushes him against the desk, the edge digging into his thighs. He feels Jack starting to undo the zipper on his pants, and it’s all Rhys can do to not move to try and find some relief. He whimpers slightly when Jack hand brushes his cock while pulling off his pants and underwear, unable to stop his hips from bucking forward this time, seeking more friction.

Jack finally strips too, pulling his clothes off efficiently while Rhys waits impatiently. All the clothes get tossed in the middle of the room, forgotten, and Jack kisses Rhys again, hands resting on his hips. Rhys’s lips part easily, allowing Jack access. Rhys shifts minutely against Jack, the friction sweet, but it’s not enough, and Rhys moves his hand between them, stroking himself a few times before Jack grabs his wrist.

Jack tsks at him, looking at him mock sternly. “Did I say you could touch yourself, sweetheart?”

“No, sir, but -”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “But? But what?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, sir.” Rhys’s voice is shaky, and he’s proud of himself for even being able to think past the haze of lust clouding his mind.

“Are you, cupcake?” Jack eyes him for a second, before saying “Turn around.”

Rhys does so, leaning over the desk. He feels a finger push into him, and Rhys says a silent thanks for the lube, although he’s not sure where that came from. He guesses it’s not that surprising Jack keeps lube in his office, given the kind of appointment he scheduled with Rhys. Rhys has done this a couple times before, and he doesn’t feel more than a faint discomfort, even when Jack adds another finger. Soon, Rhys is breathing heavily, and almost unconsciously, his hand moves to his erection. Rhys moans at the contact, but it’s cut off all too soon by Jack saying “I thought I said I don’t like repeating myself. You don’t come until I tell you to. You hear what I’m saying, pumpkin?”

Even though it’s the last thing he wants to do, Rhys moves his hand back up to the desk, apologizing incoherently while doing so.

“Are you sorry? I think you’re just saying that because you want to come. Is that it, Rhys? Do you want to come?”

Rhys can’t pay much attention to anything except for the way Jack’s fingers are moving inside of him, and he pushes back against them, aching for more contact.

“Sweetheart, when I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it.”

“Yes, sir, I-” Rhys’s response is broken into a sharp ah noise as Jack’s fingers brush across his prostate, the instant spark of pleasure making his back arch as he cries out loudly. If the doors opened at this point, Rhys is pretty sure he wouldn’t care anymore, not when the jolts of pleasure every time Jack angles his fingers a certain way are so intense.

“What was that, pumpkin? Didn’t quite catch it.” Jack, the bastard, is mocking him. Rhys can’t do anything to retaliate, because Jack is his only lifeline right now, the only person who can soothe the burning need Rhys is feeling. Jack wants him to beg, and Rhys knows it. He’s a mess of broken-off moans and high-pitched whimpers, and Rhys is pretty sure he lost his last shred of dignity sometime around the point Jack started fucking him with three fingers.

“Jack, please. I want to come, please, sir.” Rhys is panting and he knows he’s not making all that much sense, but he can feel Jack’s satisfaction emanating in waves, so he figures even though he’s not winning any awards for his romantic speeches, whatever he’s saying is probably good enough.

Jack pulls his fingers out, Rhys crying out slightly at the loss. It’s only a moment before he feels Jack push in though, and Rhys’s nails scratch against the burnished surface of the desk at the feel of Jack’s cock filling him.

“God, Rhys, you’re such a fucking slut. Are you this easy for everyone? For god’s sake, we only talked for the first time today.”

Rhys would point out that Jack is the one who called him up to this office, and that it’s not like he could really say no to Hyperion’s infamous corporate head (as though Rhys would have wanted to say no). Rhys briefly registers all those points in his head, but dismisses them in favor of focusing on the near constant thrum of pleasure flowing through him, the sensations heady and overwhelming. Jack drives into him ruthlessly, and Rhys moans when Jack hits his prostate, angling to repeatedly send those shocks up Rhys’s spine. The table is cutting painful indents into the front of Rhys’s thighs by now, but the slight hurt of it pales in comparison to the mind-numbing, electric pleasure. Rhys feels a familiar tension, knows he’s only seconds away. Jack reaches in front of Rhys to jerk him off, and it’s only a few touches before Rhys is coming, his cry drawn-out and loud. Rhys can barely register Jack growling in his ear. He fucks into Rhys a few more times before coming, his fingertips pressing bruises into Rhys’s thighs.

Both of them are too blissed out to do anything more than stand there for a few moments. Soon, though, Jack pulls out and their breathing slows down.

Rhys’s eyes are half-lidded and he feels suddenly very sleepy, but he turns when Jack says, “Remember how I said this wasn’t a promotion? I lied. You’re moving up the ladder, cupcake. You start tomorrow as my new PA.”

Rhys nods, stumbles over to Jack’s couch, and promptly falls asleep. If his time working under Jack is going to be anything like today, he’s going to need the rest.

 ****  
  


**Author's Note:**

> It's two in the morning, and I regret a lot of things. My lack of morality is faintly concerning, but eh. Bit late now to worry about that, isn't it?
> 
> [Adjourn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/adjourn), your fault. As always.


End file.
